


Racing Against You

by multifandomcircusfreak



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Pedestrian au, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomcircusfreak/pseuds/multifandomcircusfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons lived off a schedule. She woke up every morning, seconds before her 5:45 am alarm, with a smile on her face. She left her apartment at 6:30 to begin her fifteen minute walk to the lab where she worked, stopping for five minutes once along the way for a pastry from her favourite bakery, and made it to her work ten minutes early for her 7:00 shift.  It had always been like that - until one day, when a man with curly hair pressed the button first, and signified her descent into pedestrian madness.</p>
<p>Fitzsimmons pedestrian au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Racing Against You

Jemma Simmons lived off a schedule. She woke up every morning, seconds before her 5:45 am alarm, with a smile on her face. She left her apartment at 6:30 to begin her fifteen minute walk to the lab where she worked, stopping for five minutes once along the way for a pastry from her favourite bakery, and made it to her work ten minutes early for her 7:00 shift. 

It was a lovely, sunny Tuesday morning and everything was going according to plan. Her tea was in her travel mug in one hand, her fresh pastry in the other, and she was on time. Jemma walked leisurely up to the crosswalk, but whereas she was usually alone, someone was already there.

A man with very curly hair was five steps ahead of her, pushing the button. It blinked to allow him to cross.

_No,_ Jemma thought when she saw the overhead sign tell her that there was only five seconds left to cross. Her comfortable pace quickened in an attempt to make it in time. She got to her destination just as the countdown ran out, and gawked at the man who was calmly continuing his trek on the other side of the road, which was now filled with cars.

After pressing the button once more, and waiting for what seemed like an agonizingly long time for it to let her cross, bouncing her knee impatiently the entire time, Jemma checked her watch. It was 6:50. AKA the time she was usually already at work. But she still had another five minutes to walk which meant - for the first time in the past year, Jemma Simmons was _late._

Well, technically even with this horrible situation she was forced into she would still be five minutes early, which was better than than the averagely punctual workers, and much better than the stragglers. But _still._

She hurried off to her job, and felt guilty for her uncharacteristic tardiness, even when her boss simply nodded to her with his casual “Miss Simmons” like nothing was amiss. Jemma would never forget that curly haired man who had so inconveniently gone about his day, unbeknownst to her subsequent problems.

***

The next day, Jemma was back on track. Her tea was to her liking, the pastry was delicious, she was on time, and best of all, the curly haired man was nowhere to be seen. 

She was very happy to be back in her groove, and could practically skip. So she did. Well, she didn’t really skip, because she was a well mannered, professional woman in public, and skipping like a fool would be silly. There was an added bounce to her step though. Jemma was just about to sigh contentedly when she spotted it. _Him._

The curly haired man appeared from around the corner and walked calmly up to the button. Jemma threw all thoughts of propriety to the wind, and tossed her pastry into the bin beside her. She ran up to get to the crosswalk before he did, and was absolutely sure that she looked like a madwoman, but her pride was on the line here. 

As fate would have it, she tripped over her own foot - _why did she have to wear heels today?_ \- and when she looked up, he was already pressing the blasted button. Jemma frantically attempted to collect herself, barely managing not to fall flat on her face, and continued to try and reach the crosswalk in time. She arrived just as the last number on the sign faded away, replaced by the symbol that told pedestrians to wait. 

Jemma felt like screaming. 

Just to make it worse, the curly haired man turned around at the following stretch of sidewalk when he heard the sound of frustration she hadn’t been aware that she’d made. He stared at her for a moment in confusion, and Jemma was temporarily stunned by just how blue his eyes were, even from across the road from him, where she stood. She snapped out of it when his expression stopped being wide-eyed shock, and transformed into a smug look. He even bloody _smirked._

Then he turned around abruptly and went along on his merry way, leaving Jemma stranded for as long as it took for the crosswalk to allow pedestrians to continue again. She checked her watch, and was not pleased to discover that she was thirty seconds later than the day before, simply because she’d gotten a tad distracted when the man of her nightmares had turned around.

Apparently she was still distracted, because when the sign dinged to alert her that she could cross, it took her a few more seconds than she was proud of to realize it. Jemma awoke from her momentary daze and finished her walk to work with definitely less of a bounce in her step than she’d possessed only a short time earlier.

She would later flush with shame when she processed the fact that when one of her coworkers bidded Jemma good morning, she’d all but grunted at them. Grunted! What was that crosswalk-man turning her into?! She blamed him for all of this. Yes, she would blame her grumpiness, tardiness, and sudden embarrassing desperation on him. She hated him.

Jemma Simmons had seen the man for less than three minutes for two days, and she hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone before. She couldn’t stand the way he leisurely walked up to that stupid button and managed to put her in a rut for the remainder of the day with an action that took less than ten seconds to perform. She despised the way he had the ability to make her like this. She _loathed_ the thought of seeing him tomorrow, which she, very unfortunately, probably would.

Most of all, the hated that he had rooted in her mind. Jemma found herself thinking about all the things about him she hadn’t been aware that her brain had recorded. Thoughts of how he looked like he’d gotten out of bed only minutes before she saw him flitted into existence in her head. While she did her work, she absent-mindedly thought about the exact shade of brilliant blue that resided in his eyes, and the way his beige jacket seemed to really complement his appearance, or even how his perpetually disheveled hair looked really soft.

_This has to stop,_ Jemma scolded herself. _I’ll just have to be first tomorrow._

***

Two weeks had passed, and with each day, Jemma found herself slipping deeper into a moderate insanity. She’d tried practically _everything_. One day, she woke up five minutes earlier, just to get to that cursed crosswalk button quicker - only to find that the man had chosen to ride his bike that day and had gotten there, once again, minutes before her. After that, she’d stuffed an extra apple into her lunch so that she wouldn’t be hungry in the morning when she skipped her daily pastry. The man in the bakery had looked at her, because she’d bought his wares every day for the past few months, and had begun to view her as a constant customer. It turns out that she’d shunned Carl for no reason, because there _he_ was again. It looked to her like he had for some reason decided to turn on a different corner - one that was closer to the button - and got there first.

Was he _trying_ to ruin her morning? How did he consistently, every single time, manage to get there first, no matter what she planned? She was beginning to think, despite herself, that she’d displeased some ancient primordial god who was now punishing her with this man. Maybe she was overreacting. Jemma reminded herself of that every day when she woke up. This was the struggle of many citizens of many different towns, to have constant inconveniences. There was _no way_ that this man existed solely to spite her. He was just another inhabitant of her block, trying to get wherever he was going, even if it made her life mildly miserable.

What was the worst part? That was the question Jemma struggled to answer, though. Was it really the way he made her slightly more late, but still early? Was it the fact that she couldn’t thwart him? Or… was it the fact that she hadn’t seen him for more than thirty collective minutes, yet she still viewed him as an important part of her life. It’s possible that the worst part of this whole ordeal was how she ached to know him, the man who lived in her reality, nightmares, and daydreams. She wanted to know where he was headed on his walk, and where the corner he turned out of led back to. What did he do for a living? What was he like in eyes other than her own? She desired the knowledge of why, he’d begun to glance back at her every time he ruined her, and if it was more than his acknowledgment of her making a fool of herself.

Jemma found herself wondering if she had become just a big a part of his daily life as he had become for her. Did he have an opinion about her? Or was she just the crazy lady who was so desperate to reach a damn crosswalk button in the morning?

That day, she’d skipped her shower to make more time for herself. Her hair wasn’t as perfectly soft and clean as it usually was, but maybe, just maybe, her suffering would be worth it. When she walked down the sidewalk, she was filled with anxiety. Where she would usually say good morning to Joan, the lady in the flower shop next door to her flat, she didn’t. Jemma didn’t look up to notice if the weather was pleasant, nor did she allow herself to ponder the possibility of getting there first. Had she sunk so low as to believe in the scientifically inaccurate phenomenon of jinxing? 

Jemma was vaguely aware that her glare, purposeful walk, and disheveled hair were probably all working together to make her look murderous, but she didn’t care. Eventually the crosswalk was in sight, and her eyes fixed on it. He wasn’t there.

Jemma only realized that there was a light precipitation when she felt a drop land right on her nose. The old, happier Jemma Simmons would have rifled through her bag for an umbrella so that she wouldn’t tarnish her professional appearance, but there was no point now, because she didn’t feel professional, and the button was a mere stroll from where she stood.

She felt a smirk grow bigger on her face with every step she took. So close. Not much farther now. Then, one of the many people with umbrellas in that area turned around to glance at the street behind them. To her great and utter horror, Jemma discovered that the man whose face had been uncovered was _him._

She stared in shock as he pressed the button, she wanted to run, to catch up, but she knew that she would only fall in a puddle and be seconds too late and wet. It was so close but still too far. 

“Oh, _come on!_ ” she exclaimed frustratedly as she made it to the post. 

Just like he’d done that time before, he turned around from across the street at her loudness. This time he did more than smirk, though, and Jemma could feel her breath catch in her throat when he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Having a bit of bad luck?” he called to her over the sound of cars passing, his tone teasing. Her eyes widened when she heard his voice for the first time only to discover that he had an accent. So far, she’d simply assumed he was one of the other numerous Americans who surrounded her now. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he could be from somewhere else, like her. Scotland, it seemed like.

“A tad, yeah!” she answered, fixing the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

His lips inched up into that bloody smirk again. “Maybe you should wake up earlier,” he added, before turning around again, leaving Jemma behind. She bit her lip in order to restrain herself.

Like always, by the time she could cross the street, he was already out of sight. Jemma brushed herself off, though she knew that there was nothing on her, and started walking again. She even pulled out her umbrella for the last five minutes of her journey. 

For some reason, that man with the curly hair, and the blue eyes, and the cocky smirk, held her curiosity. As a scientist, she’d always been fascinated by the properties of cells, and creating new formulas, but she’d never in her lifetime been so intrigued by a person. Jemma’s opinion about him varied. In the morning, when she was inconvenienced by his actions, she hated him. During her work hours, she found him interesting, like a mystery to be solved. At night, when she was planning her next attempt at victory, she thought of him like a milestone. Something new to do and look forward to the next day. Despite the fact that he was driving her insane, he definitely made life exciting for her.

And she didn’t even know his name.

Later that day, while she fiddled with test tubes, her head was once again taken up partly by this mysterious man. Somehow she felt like she knew him, though in reality, she knew so little about him. She didn’t know where he worked, what he did, who he was, _his name_ , but yet he’d taken the puzzle that was her life and stuck his own piece amongst the mix. For all the days she’d seen him, it was like he rooted himself deeper into her world.

They’d never had a conversation before those few sentences spoken from across the street, but she noticed things. One day, when he’d foiled her plans of walking faster, because he was apparently late for something himself, he’d worn a Doctor Who shirt. Two days later, he had shown up for his calm walk to the button with a tea in hand. After that, he was holding a sketchbook in one hand and sported a pencil behind his ear. And now, she knew that he was Scottish.

Jemma was also very aware that he recognized her as part of his day, as well. Weeks before, he might have gotten away with being an innocent citizen just trying to leisurely go along his way, in those days it could be said that Jemma was simply overreacting about being late and was practically terrorizing the poor man. But now… She knew that he knew what he was doing, and he was playing her game.

Now, every day, he’d glance back to see what desperate attempts at beating him she’d made. She didn’t actually think that he was going out of his way to thwart her plans, even if it seemed like that at times. No, he was just basking in the fact that he was ahead of her without trying. He was enjoying these coincidences that put him first.

A few weeks ago, he actually _was_ innocent. At this point, he was doing it on purpose. Any other person would have realized by now that they were making her late, and would have waited to press the button, but not him. He just did as he pleased and watched her reaction for a split second after he was safely across the road.

And yet, she found herself waiting for whatever would come the next day. Though she would totally deny it in the morning. She still hated him, and he had ruined her flawless schedule and was slowly driving her insane. But she loved to hate him.

***

This streak continued for another few weeks, and Jemma was on the verge of throwing a rock at his head, and stepping over his unconscious body to press the button first. He had an impressive record of being lucky with coincidences. Some of life’s retaliations weren’t even any fault of his own.

She tried cutting through an alley, but apparently said alley wasn’t really a shortcut. Taking resulted in arriving at the crosswalk at the same time that she would if she had simply walked down her street. A few days later, she’d attempted to wake up even earlier than she had the other time that she’d tried. As she walked out the door and calculated the weather and how long it would take her to get to the crosswalk, she discovered that she would hypothetically get her first. Then her smoke detector went off and Jemma was left with a very important decision. Let her flat burn down, or get there first? Logically she went to go put out the fire that had taken ahold of one of her oven’s burners - but she wasn’t happy about it.

But of course, some of the times were still his fault. For example, one day, she wore her running clothes and decided that she would change at work. Despite the fact that she wasn’t ten minutes early anymore, she still had that extra five minutes, and technically even if it took her longer than that to pull herself together, she wouldn’t be officially late if she clocked in first. Plus, she worked in a lab. Unless she was late to a meeting, no one cared except her. And the only meeting that day was for the engineering division downstairs. _Coincidentally,_ as she jogged over, she found out that he was apparently trying to get somewhere himself. Quickly.

He ran up, pressed the button, and bounced up and down impatiently while he waited for it to let him cross. Jemma was torn between screaming at him for getting there before her _again,_ and giggling at how funny he looked rocking back and forth on his tippy toes like a child who couldn’t stand still. 

Instead, she simply started jogging again, but wasn’t surprised when she got there just as the time ran out and he made out to the other side. Her mouth dropped open in exasperation, though, and she jutted her hands out in front of her, like she was motioning to some invisible person all the troubles in her life. Then, she just turned in a circle frustratedly, groaning. 

Despite the fact that it looked like he had somewhere to be, the curly-haired, monstrous man couldn’t seem to resist looking back at her. He saw her reaction and full out laughed. Laughed. Jemma felt like she was having an out of body experience when she suddenly felt herself stick her tongue out at him. He chuckled again and turned to resume his running. 

Jemma most definitely, without a doubt, did _not_ like his laugh. Nope.

***

They’d been at this for a month and a half now, and it was the last day of work before her beloved week long break commenced. Jemma didn’t want to fight today. No, she was too at peace. 

She woke up at 5:45 like she usually did, she left the house at 6:30 after putting herself together to her old extent. She even bought one of Carl’s pastries again. As she walked, she reminded herself again and again, _I will not scheme, I have not schemed, the crosswalk does not matter._

Instead, she looked up at the lovely blue sky, and said good morning to her neighbours, and smiled. Her pace was even calm. Generally, it was a slow peaceful morning, and she was reminded of how this time of day used to be. 

Then she saw him, and he was walking just as leisurely as she was when he came around his corner. The urge to be ahead of him returned in full force. Jemma battled with herself on the inside, knowing that if she didn’t get there in time, her day would be mucky again. But it _was_ the last day before a week of not seeing him, so… 

_What the hell_ , she thought, and gave in.

Jemma broke out into a full out sprint, running past people and only mildly caring when she bumped into them. He obviously didn’t see her coming up behind him, and she didn’t blame him for not expecting her to be _this_ desperate. Her hair was flying all over the place, but that was the last thing on her mind. 

Her brain suddenly processed the fact that her outstretched hand was inches away from the damn button. It also told her that in order to reach it, she would collide with her still-unaware mystery man. Well, it was too late to stop it now. She crashed into him, all but knocking him over, and he made a squeak of surprise when they made contact. Yet, when she looked over to see that her hand was placed firmly in the button, she could only feel the sweet sensation of victory. After nearly two months of being mere feet behind, seconds too late, she’d finally won. The feeling died down quickly when she took in that he was staring at her in shock and disbelief and that she was _right beside him_. And, you know, that she’d just been transformed into a human battering ram over a crosswalk.

Despite this, she wouldn’t let herself miss her beloved window of time just so that they could stare at each other, so she treaded ahead onto the road. Jemma didn’t know exactly how to feel when after one more second of gawking and rubbing the back of his neck, he followed her, somewhat forcing her to deal with her recent actions. 

“You’re quite competitive, aren’t you?” he noted. His voice held the same teasing lilt that she remembered, like he was on the verge of laughing, and she didn’t appreciate the effect that it had on her.

“And you aren’t exactly as considerate as you are lucky,” she responded in a tone that she’d tried to keep airy, but had probably ended up more on the bitter side.

He laughed, and Jemma failed to calm the rush that it sent through her. “I guess not,” the mysterious crosswalk man added. “Mind if I walk with you? Since you’re obviously headed my way.”

After a slight hesitation filled pause of consideration, she accepted. Now they were across the street, and Jemma realized that this was as far as she’d ever seen him go. “Where are you headed, if you don’t mind me asking, Mr….”

“Fitz,” he amended. “My name’s Fitz -”

Jemma smiled at this newfound piece of information. Her arch nemesis had a name after all. One that suited him quite well, actually… 

“- and I’m on my way to work. Over there,” he pointed further in the direction they were walking. Amusingly, it seemed like he was gesturing to her lab building. 

“Really? I work over there as well.”

“Heard of that lab on eighth street? I’m in the engineering division.”

Jemma did a double take, checking his face for sincerity, though she knew that he would have no basis or reason to lie to her about that. “ _What?_ I’m in the biochemistry division there! My name is Jemma, by the way.”

He looked at her once more. “Are you serious?” he asked. “How have we not seen each other?”

She looked down sheepishly. “Simple. I always go through the direct entrance to my division on the left side of the building… and I never go downstairs.”

“Never?” he questioned lightly.

“Never. The music plays too loud sometimes and there is a large man down there who scares me. I’m not exactly a tough girl.”

“I don’t know about that…” Fitz chuckled. “And that large man is Mack. He’s intimidating, yeah, but he’s cool.”

“You know…” Jemma mused. “I’ve never seen you upstairs either.”

“Um, yes. That would be because you guys are always… uh… dissecting things.”

Jemma laughed out loud. “Fitz,” she ribbed, not dwelling on how good it felt to say his name aloud. “Please don’t tell me you’re afraid of dissections.”

He ran his hand through his curls, and confessed, “Guilty.”

“Engineers....” she teased, shaking her head.

“Biochemists…” he retaliated.

As if time had flown by, their conversation was interrupted by them realizing that they were at their apparently shared building. Fitz turned to her and she saw that the features that were usually so aggravatingly cocky had been replaced by a sincere friendliness.

“Well, see ya, Jemma,” he said in farewell.

“Yeah, bye, Fitz,” she added. 

Then they both turned away to their different entrances.

***

Surprisingly, pressing the button first wasn’t the only fulfilling thing about that day. Jemma was quite satisfied afterwards as well, for where she was usually up in her lab, wondering him without knowing he was two flights of stairs away, today she was learning things and venturing downstairs to talk.

Like the norm, she’d finished her designated project before her colleagues, but instead of starting a new one just for the fun of being an overachiever, she got up and padded down the two levels that lead to the engineering and mechanics division in the basement. Many times, she’d sent people down there for her with questions about the equipment that would let her concoctions meet the light of day, or to hand over her reports, but she’d never set foot there herself before today.

He smiled when he saw her open the door to his lab. They talked while he did his work, and Jemma reveled in the new information she received. She learned that his first name was Leopold, but if anyone called him that, he would glare. Fitz told her that he’d started walking down the same road as her to get to work because he’d moved flats, and that even though he hadn’t _tried_ to get there first, he always thought it was funny to see her right behind him in different states of disarray. Too funny to wait.

In return, she gave him information about her side of the story, how he’d quickly become her arch nemesis who foiled her plans. She shared tales of her attempts to get to the legendary crosswalk before him, and all the ways she’d failed miserably.

They chatted about Doctor Who, their moves from home to America, even their favourite shops on their block. Jemma had felt right in the notion that despite no knowledge about anything, she knew him. Now, she actually had information about his life, and Jemma didn’t mind the feeling of her brain rearranging the thought of him in her mind, turning him from the man who always ruined her morning to the guy who had made them just that little bit more special. 

***

A week later, when Jemma woke up at 5:45 with a smile on her face, prepared to follow her perfect schedule, she didn’t have a clue what she was expecting when she got to that crosswalk. Would they fall back into their old habits? Would they simply pretend that the last time they saw each other had never happened? 

Nevertheless, when she walked down the familiar sidewalk, pondering what would happen next, she was surprised to see Fitz leaning against the post instead of getting on with pressing the button. He saw her moments later, and smiled.

“Did you wait for me?” she asked happily, a grin on her face.

Her not-so-much-a-mystery man shrugged, but he didn’t quite manage to come off as nonchalant. “Thought I might as well, since we’re going to the same place. Walk with me?”

She nodded in response, and he even let her press the button before they walked the rest of the way to work together. 

That crosswalk was a pretty important place for them, it seemed. It was where they first saw each other, and where they first met, turning from nemeses to acquaintances to friends. It was where, every day, he would wait for her. One day, when they were chatting to each other while crossing the road, he asked if she might want to grab dinner with him - as a date. She said yes.

After that very successful date, the crosswalk was where Fitz would reach for her hand every day, and where she would always give it to him. It was where they started to walk back from work together too.

That very important post that the button was mounted on was the spot that Jemma had looked up to see that the look in Fitz’s eyes wasn’t the same shy, yet mischievous one that she’d grown so accustomed to. It had been replaced by one that was lost in thought, but at the same time very intense. She asked him what was wrong and he just responded that nothing was wrong. Jemma gave him a questioning look and was about to ask him again when his lips were suddenly on hers. She kissed him back immediately, without even realizing it. It all felt so natural that for a moment, she could have sworn that it wasn’t their first time. But when he pulled back to assess her reaction, the giddiness of a first kiss flooded into her and reminded her.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Hi,” he echoed, leaning his forehead against hers.

They didn’t catch on to the fact that they didn’t make it to work quite as early as they’d planned, because they’d missed their crossing time twice, until later. But they both agreed that it was time well spent.

Months later, Fitz didn’t even need to wait for her at their spot. No, every morning he was right beside her when she woke up at 5:45, covering his ears with a pillow.

“Fitz,” she scolded, leaning down to press a kiss under his ear. “You need to get up.”

Peeking out from behind his cushioned barrier, he answered. “Here’s an idea, Jem. How about we just don’t go to work today? Stay in bed?”

She looked at him. “Don’t you think that being in a lab is a lot more fun than being cooped up in a bed?”

He gazed up at her with a glint in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted into his famous smirk. “I could make it _very_ fun for you.” He reached up to pull her down for another kiss, but she scooted just out of his grasp. 

“Nope,” she declined, pinning her hair up and grabbing her bathrobe from its hanger. “No kisses for you until you get out of bed.”

Fitz groaned and flopped back down onto their bed. “Sleep… Kissing.... Jemma, it’s too early for an ultimatum!”

“Exactly!” she called as she walked off to the bathroom for her shower.

He did eventually get up and receive that kiss, but somehow, he managed to pull his girlfriend back into bed. “We’re sick,” he commented between kisses when they were both stretched out on the mattress. Jemma simply nodded and hummed in agreement. Looking back on it, she had no clue how she’d let him distract her so much to the point where she would skip work, but at the time, she obviously was thinking about more fun things he’d promised for her that day than mixing up chemicals. For the first time ever, Jemma Simmons didn’t go to work when she was perfectly capable, and yet, she didn’t regret it.

Back in the beginning, to her, Leo Fitz was an annoyance. He was an aggravation, mystery, and both sides of a magnet, repelling and attracting, all at the same time. Then, he was a novel and a riddle, full of chapters for her to discover and things to learn. Now he was a hand to hold, a mouth to kiss. He was someone who would wait for her, but didn’t need to, because he was already right beside her. Fitz was the man she bounced her ideas off of and would give them back better than before, a partner. 

Most of all, Fitz was a story. One that had intrigued her so far, and one she definitely wanted to read all the way to the end.

She supposed that she really just had to thank fate -even if it didn’t exist in her opinion - and that not-so-stupid crosswalk.


End file.
